Volume 11: Crosscurrents and Consequences
Chapter 1
Prologue: Seven Years Ago
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The sun had just struggled above the jagged fin of Mount Thor when a traveler came to Artur Threindal’s door. She was very young, very blond, and very tired. Her escorts were four Outer tribesmen with thick beards and fur boots who’d been paid to bring her all the way from the shore of Husson Strait.She whispered the password in a dead language: “Resurgam.” She looked terrified.“Come in,” said Artur in Harbourer, ushering her into the warmth of his sitting room. He wasn’t fluent in the language, but it sufficed. He instructed his servant to take the tribesmen to the back kitchen, feed them well for their trouble, and send them on their way.He was glad Moneta wasn’t back yet from her rounds. Each time they had a visitor from the south, she made it clear she hoped this one was the last. But Artur had been entrusted with this duty by the same party who’d funded their snug stone house roofed with solar panels, and he tried to take it seriously. For the young travelers’ sake, if no one else’s.“You must have had a hard journey,” he said, helping the girl peel off layers of furs. Like all of them, she stunk from the long overland journey in temperatures that prohibited bathing. She was even younger than the others he’d trained—in her mid-teens, he suspected. “How long did it take?” he asked, switching to Oslov.For a moment, panic showed in the girl’s eyes. Then she replied in heavily accented Oslov, “Four ten-days from the ship. Three ten-days on the ship before that. Three months from my home.”Artur didn’t ask where home was; it didn’t matter. His job was to give her a new one.“From now on, you address me as Fir,” he said, drawing himself up with all his old Reddan dignity. He came from a family of respectable desk-job Laborers going back generations, even if he was an exile now. “You were born seventy kilometers south of here, near Clearwater, and you’ve never been any farther south than that. Your father is an Oslov soldier and your mother was an Outer who had a dalliance with him. At least, that’s what she told you. That you are ‘half Oslov.’ Understand?”“Yes, Fir.” The girl’s voice was sullen with exhaustion. Some of these recruits were eager volunteers and others not so willing, but Artur couldn’t afford to think much about that. Or about how young this one was.“From now on, your name is Einara Derán,” he said, concocting a combination of Outer-sounding first name and Oslov surname on the spot. “I don’t want to know who you’ve been up to now. You’re not that person anymore. You’re an Oslov by blood. Your one goal in life is to return to Redda, where your father comes from and you belong.”“Yes, Fir.” Einara stared down at the pine planks. She was beautiful because she had to be, but she was a kid, and she looked like any minute she might be sick all over his floor.“Come,” Artur said more gently. He sat her down by the hearth and poured her a fresh cup of his best black-market tea. “It’s not so bad,” he added. “By the time we’re done here, even you’ll be convinced you’re a real Oslov.”For the first time, two fierce blue eyes targeted him directly. “I hate Oslovs. They killed my mother and sister when they sent fire from the sky. I want to kill all of them. I want to kill you.”For a moment, Artur thought she might actually attack him; his eyes darted to the loaded bolt-action rifle hanging over the hearth. Then the girl’s whole body went slack with fatigue, and she sank deeper into the chair, shivering. “I hate you,” she said softly, still in Oslov.Artur nodded encouragingly. “You’ve been doing your lessons, haven’t you? You have a nice vocabulary. Now, if only we can get you to say all that in a more believable accent, you may actually have a chance of getting exactly what you want.”“To kill Oslovs.”Artur quailed inside when he saw how thoroughly some of the recruits were brainwashed. He couldn’t tell them everything he knew and suspected about their Glorious Resurgent Leader, but he could do his best to give them a fighting chance at a better life. Sometimes, when they got to know and trust him, he dared to drop hints that they’d be better off as free agents, looking out only for themselves.But this one was far from that stage. She had an ax to grind, and apparently she was eager to bury it in some Oslov skulls. “You’ll kill Oslovs, yes,” he said with a solemn nod, then turned away with a sigh to pour himself more tea.
The sun had just struggled above the jagged fin of Mount Thor when a traveler came to Artur Threindal’s door. She was very young, very blond, and very tired. Her escorts were four Outer tribesmen with thick beards and fur boots who’d been paid to bring her all the way from the shore of Husson Strait.
She whispered the password in a dead language: “Resurgam.” She looked terrified.
“Come in,” said Artur in Harbourer, ushering her into the warmth of his sitting room. He wasn’t fluent in the language, but it sufficed. He instructed his servant to take the tribesmen to the back kitchen, feed them well for their trouble, and send them on their way.
He was glad Moneta wasn’t back yet from her rounds. Each time they had a visitor from the south, she made it clear she hoped this one was the last. But Artur had been entrusted with this duty by the same party who’d funded their snug stone house roofed with solar panels, and he tried to take it seriously. For the young travelers’ sake, if no one else’s.
“You must have had a hard journey,” he said, helping the girl peel off layers of furs. Like all of them, she stunk from the long overland journey in temperatures that prohibited bathing. She was even younger than the others he’d trained—in her mid-teens, he suspected. “How long did it take?” he asked, switching to Oslov.
For a moment, panic showed in the girl’s eyes. Then she replied in heavily accented Oslov, “Four ten-days from the ship. Three ten-days on the ship before that. Three months from my home.”
Artur didn’t ask where home was; it didn’t matter. His job was to give her a new one.
“From now on, you address me as Fir,” he said, drawing himself up with all his old Reddan dignity. He came from a family of respectable desk-job Laborers going back generations, even if he was an exile now. “You were born seventy kilometers south of here, near Clearwater, and you’ve never been any farther south than that. Your father is an Oslov soldier and your mother was an Outer who had a dalliance with him. At least, that’s what she told you. That you are ‘half Oslov.’ Understand?”
“Yes, Fir.” The girl’s voice was sullen with exhaustion. Some of these recruits were eager volunteers and others not so willing, but Artur couldn’t afford to think much about that. Or about how young this one was.
“From now on, your name is Einara Derán,” he said, concocting a combination of Outer-sounding first name and Oslov surname on the spot. “I don’t want to know who you’ve been up to now. You’re not that person anymore. You’re an Oslov by blood. Your one goal in life is to return to Redda, where your father comes from and you belong.”
“Yes, Fir.” Einara stared down at the pine planks. She was beautiful because she had to be, but she was a kid, and she looked like any minute she might be sick all over his floor.
“Come,” Artur said more gently. He sat her down by the hearth and poured her a fresh cup of his best black-market tea. “It’s not so bad,” he added. “By the time we’re done here, even you’ll be convinced you’re a real Oslov.”
For the first time, two fierce blue eyes targeted him directly. “I hate Oslovs. They killed my mother and sister when they sent fire from the sky. I want to kill all of them. I want to kill you.”
For a moment, Artur thought she might actually attack him; his eyes darted to the loaded bolt-action rifle hanging over the hearth. Then the girl’s whole body went slack with fatigue, and she sank deeper into the chair, shivering. “I hate you,” she said softly, still in Oslov.
Artur nodded encouragingly. “You’ve been doing your lessons, haven’t you? You have a nice vocabulary. Now, if only we can get you to say all that in a more believable accent, you may actually have a chance of getting exactly what you want.”
“To kill Oslovs.”
Artur quailed inside when he saw how thoroughly some of the recruits were brainwashed. He couldn’t tell them everything he knew and suspected about their Glorious Resurgent Leader, but he could do his best to give them a fighting chance at a better life. Sometimes, when they got to know and trust him, he dared to drop hints that they’d be better off as free agents, looking out only for themselves.
But this one was far from that stage. She had an ax to grind, and apparently she was eager to bury it in some Oslov skulls. “You’ll kill Oslovs, yes,” he said with a solemn nod, then turned away with a sigh to pour himself more tea.
Chapter End Notes
Thank you for reading! I’ll try to update this story weekly and may start updating “All the Kinds of Broken” biweekly, but we’ll see how things go. Updates are also on Tumblr.
Chapter End Notes
Thank you for reading! I’ll try to update this story weekly and may start updating “All the Kinds of Broken” biweekly, but we’ll see how things go. Updates are also on Tumblr.
Thank you for reading! I’ll try to update this story weekly and may start updating “All the Kinds of Broken” biweekly, but we’ll see how things go. Updates are also on Tumblr.